Page 74 of 4th Silence
Dad’s laugh is infectious. Mom gestures wildly as she tells her version of how she nailed Alex. Yes, it was all her if you buy this story. Meg and Jerome argue good-naturedly about the Nationals’ prospects.
I smile and nod at the right moments, but all I can think about is JJ’s face when he dropped me off at my house--his no-holds-barred speech and his parting words.
“Charlie?” Mom’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Would you like more wine?”
Damn straight I do. But I have to be sober enough to drive home. Still, I push my glass forward, wondering if the second glass might dull the ache in my chest. Meg refills my water, giving me a concerned look. Or is it pity?
Dad eagle-eyes me. “You okay, kiddo? You’ve been quiet tonight.”
“Just tired,” I lie, taking a sip. It’s not really a lie. I am tired. Tired of the emotions that have left me wrung out and brittle.
What I can’t say is that I keep replaying the last conversation I had with JJ in my head. “You’d think he’d ease up on being right all the time,” I mutter under my breath, stabbing a potato.
“What was that?” Mom asks.
“Nothing. These potatoes are amazing.”
Meg clears her throat. Jerome’s honey-blond hair is pulled back in a neater-than-usual low bun, and he’s upgraded from his typical grunge clothes to preppy. The sight of him looking so conventional is cute, and I’m happy about Meg’s decision to live with him.
He gives Meg’s hand a quick squeeze. “Hey, Charlie,” he says, sliding a dish my way. “Want to try my famous seven-layer dip?”
“By ‘famous’ he means he once won third place at a neighborhood cookout,” Meg stage-whispers, making everyone laugh.
“It was second place,” Jerome corrects with mock indignation.
I watch them, envying that easy comfort between two people who understand each other. The ache in my chest intensifies.
My sister catches my eye as I politely take a scoop of the dip. “We agreed—no cold cases this weekend. Don’t tell me you’re working tonight, of all nights.”
I shake my head. “Just admiring Jerome’s transformation. Did you dress him, or did he manage that sweater all by himself?”
“Hey!” Jerome protests good-naturedly, although Meg gives me a warning glance. She can’t decide if I’m teasing or being snarky. I’m not sure, either. “I’ll have you know I picked this out without any assistance,” Jerome says.
“And it only took him three tries,” Meg adds, as she serves herself some fruit salad.
A timer goes off in the kitchen, and Mom jumps to her feet. “The pie!”
She rushes out and Dad joins her. “Don’t burn yourself,” he calls to her.
Meg leans forward. “Seriously, are you okay? You’ve got that thousand-yard stare you get when you’re profiling people.”
I wave her off and take another sip of wine. “It’s nothing.”
“Uh-huh. And this has nothing to do with a certain tall, dark, and lawyerly man whose name rhymes with ‘Hey-Hey’?”
I nearly choke on my wine. “How many gummies have you had today?”
She rolls her eyes. Jerome chuckles. “I can vouch that she only had the recommended dose to get through this dinner.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes, although it’s actually a smart move. “Did you bring any brownies?”
“That bad, huh?” Jerome asks, knowing that I never indulge.
Meg points her fork at me. “Come on, spill. What happened with Mr. Perfect Suit?”
I push food around on my plate. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
“Your face doesn’t say ‘fine.’ It says, ‘I’m pretending to be at this dinner while mentally rehearsing conversations with a man who isn’t here.’”
